The Art of Domination (14 page)

He hands me the paper and there’
s a picture of us leaving the courthouse. The story underneath reads:

Denver’s most eligible bachelor is now off the market. Entrepreneur Dylan Young was married in an impromptu service at the city court house yesterday early afternoon
, our sources tell us. Who is the mysterious bride? Isabel Ibanez: The very same Isabel Ibanez who has an upcoming gallery show at the Cherry Canyon Gallery. It seems the multimillionaire art collector has found himself an artist to call his own. Who is Isabel Ibanez and how did she land the eccentric security specialist whose dating record rivals the most unabashed playboys? Our people are on the story and will update you soon. Stay tuned.

Stay tuned?
Oh brother.
That’s just what we need, people snooping around trying to pry into our private lives.

“Did you read the s
tory? They called you a playboy,” I tell Dylan

“Yes. Pretty sweet, huh?” h
e says smiling but I’m not finding this amusing at all.

“
You think that’s funny?”

“
A little. Why, don’t you?”

“No. That’s
my husband their talking about,” I can hear myself pouting. I don’t like thinking about Dylan with other women.

Dylan leans down and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry about it; none of its true. Well, except for the
multimillionaire part. And being eccentric. And being off the market. And having found an artist to call my own…” he trails off as he smiles.

“Yes, yes. I get it.
Do you think they’ll start snooping around?”

“Of course they will
,” he says as he pushes my hair out of my face.

“Aren’t you worried about that?”

“Not really. It’s nothing new. You might as well get used it, being as you’re the wife of an eccentric, former playboy, multimillionaire,” he says winking at me.

Yes,
I suppose he’s right.

I walk back into my office and let Isabel work on her art. She seems upset about the article, but it’s
something she might as well get used to. I’m not thrilled that our wedding was leaked so quickly, but in all honesty, I’m not surprised.

When I get back into my office, my phone rings.
  I pick it up and I’m instantly verbally assaulted by Erika. I hold the phone away from my ear while she yells at me.

“You’re fucking married? Are you kidding me? You fist fuck me for years, put me through hell physically and emotionally, make me have sex with other men, clamp me, whip me, flog me, confess your worse deeds
to me, and you marry
someone else
? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Are you done?” I ask her calmly.

“No, I’m not done. I haven’t even started. You met with me and the whole time your precious fucking Isabel was waiting in a room for you? Does that little money hungry bitch know that you met with me on her wedding night?”

I’ve had it
. “Listen to me, Erika - I’m only going to say this once:  Don’t ever call Isabel that again, or anything for that matter. I don’t want to hear her name out of your mouth
ever
again. You’re damned straight I married another woman. You haven’t been in the picture for more than two years.  You threatened to blackmail me then and now you show up out of the blue and threaten to do the same damned thing. I don’t owe you anything. If anything, you owe me an apology for fucking me over. How many times do I have to remind you that you were the one who agreed to everything that I did to you? You were the one who wanted me to be your Dom, or did you forget about that little fact, too? You approached me! Oh, but wait… you only did that so you could get to my money, remember? So you tell me, who’s the money hungry bitch? So listen up you shit stain, my life is my own to be with whomever I choose. You’re on seriously thin ice with me. I’ve only agreed to help you to shut you the hell up, but at this point, I’m ready to say fuck it,” I yell at her.

I need to calm down.
I close my eyes tightly and concentrate on slowing my breathing and heart rate. Erika is silent on the other end and when she finally speaks, her apology is forced and insincere.

“I’m sorry, D,” s
he whispers in a snarky tone.

Her tone makes me wonder
what she has up her sleeve next.

I promptly hang up and when I turn around, Isa is standing in the doorway of the office. Her eyes are wid
e and she’s standing motionless.
Fucking hell.

“How much of that did you hear?” I ask and I feel my stomach drop.

“Enough. Was that who I think it was?” she asks, remaining stationary.

Shit. There’s no point in lying about it.
“Yes.”

“Why is she calling you?”
Isa’s voice is low and her eyes reveal her displeasure.

“She read about the wedding.”

“So? What the hell does she care? And what did you mean by
helping her?
” Isa’s hands move to her hips and she eyes narrow down to slits.

Shit, shit, shit.
Just as I’m trying to think of how to answer Isabel, there’s a knock on the door.
Talk about good timing.
I quickly push past her and answer the door. It’s Sawyer. He looks distressed and tells me there’s been a break in at the main office.
What the fuck?
There’s no way this is a coincidence. Somehow Erika is involved; I just fucking know it.

Isabel is standing in the hallway
watching and listening to our conversation. I don’t have time to deal with her. I grab my coat and keys.

“We’ll talk about
this when I get back,” I tell her but she looks livid.

“Damn straight we will,” s
he says with her hands fisted at her sides.

“
Don’t
, Isabel,” I say as I narrow my eyes at her. I’m not in the mood for her attitude right now, even though deep down, I know she has every right to be pissed off.

Sawyer
and I leave without delay. On the drive over he tells me that the break-in occurred sometime last night. I inform him of the situation with Erika and how she’s recently gotten into contact with me and what she wants. He gives me a look of shock and then disappointment. He shakes his head at me and I know he’s not happy to hear what I’ve agreed to do.

I value Sawyer’s opinion and I hate seeing him unhappy with me.

“Does Isabel know about this?” he asks.

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I haven’t told her, but she walked in on a conversation with Erika just before you came over. I’ll
have some explaining to do when I get back.”

“Shit, Young. You know I would never butt in to your private matters, but this j
ust sounds like a really bad idea. I never much liked Erika and I always felt like she had another agenda. But Isabel, well, she’s different. If I were you, I’d be very careful with Erika. That bitch is no good.”

Damn. I think that’s the most Sawyer has ever said to me at one time. I know he’s right.
He tried to warn me about Erika then, but I was too caught up in what was going on between the two of us to see straight.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I know some people who can have Erika taken care of
if you’re interested,” he tells me.

I laugh at him
, but I know he’s deadly serious. “Thanks, Sawyer, but that won’t be necessary. I may want to talk to those people when it comes to Isa’s father, though.”

“No shit. I have the paperwork on him, by the w
ay. There’s something off about him.”

“
You mean, besides him being an abusive son-of-a-bitch?” I ask him.

“
Yeah. I can’t put my finger on it, but it has something to do with Isabel’s mothers’ death.”

My interest is piqued. “I thought she died in a car accident? That’s what Isa told me.”

“Oh, she did. But there’s just something not right about it. I looked at the police report and there’s something about the whole thing that doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. I’ve been wrong before.”

He has been wrong before, but not often. His investigative skills are bar-none
and the main reason I hired him.

“I’ll keep looking into it
, with your permission.”

“Yes, of course.
Let me know what you find. Also, keep a close eye on Erika. I think she may have something to do with this break in.”

“Yes,
I considered that possibility when you mentioned she had gotten in contact with you.”

When we get to the office, the reception area is a mess with files
lying strewn everywhere. But it’s my office that’s the real mess. The first thing I notice is that Isa’s paintings are slashed.
What the fuck?
My heart sinks and I feel sick. I’m thankful that I took her submissive pose home to hang in my home office or it, too, would’ve been destroyed.

“What time did this happen?” I ask Sawyer as I sit down at the conference table and put my head in my hands.

“I can’t be exactly sure, but around 7ish last night.”

“Shit. That’s when I met with Erika, so it couldn’t have been her.”

“You met with her
last night
?” Sawyer asks in disgust.

I know that tone. Yes, I met with that bitch on my wedding night. I don’t need to be reminded of
what a shitty thing that was to do. I give him a look of back-the-fuck-off and he raises his hands as if saying ‘okay, okay’.

We scan the rest of my office and find a few missing files.
Then I realize that the file I brought with me from home is missing; the file that had the photos of Erika and the disc with the videos of us.
Shit, shit, shit
. My picture of Isa that was on my desk is also gone.
What the hell is going on
? If it wasn’t Erika, then who? All at once I feel worried for Isa. I call her but she doesn’t answer her phone and I know it’s because she’s upset with me.

I call Raul and ask him to check on her and call me back.  When he does, he tells me she’s left.
God damn it.
I GPS her phone to get a location and I’m relieved to see she’s at Kirkpatrick’s Fine Art. Still, she shouldn’t be driving in this weather. She’s not even scheduled to work today so I’m not sure why she’s there, but at least I know where she is.

Sawyer and I finish up at the office and head back home,
and I try to prepare myself for shit to hit the fan with Isa.

***

I’m livid.
Why the hell is that woman calling Dylan?
No wonder he’s been so evasive the last two days.
Evasive?
Who am I kidding. He’s been bold-faced lying to me. Why and how is he helping her? My imagination is in overdrive. There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that woman into our lives or allow him to lie to me.  If he thinks for one minute he’s helping her, he can kiss my ass goodbye. Why would he even consider doing such a thing after what she did to him?

I’m pacing the house like a lunatic. This is ridiculous. I’m not sitting here waiting for Dylan like the good little girl he wants me to be. I need to get the hell out of here. My car does horribly in the snow, but the roads should be cleaned enough that I can get around. I’ll go to work and try and get my mind off this crap.

I drive t
o work and make my way to my desk. I’m not scheduled today, but they don’t mind my showing up for a few extra hours.  My phone rings and its Dylan, but I’m too angry to talk to him right now. I want to discuss this face-to-face, not over the phone.

When I sit down, there’s a large envelope addressed to me on my desk. I note that there’s not a return address and no stamp, which means that it was
dropped off directly here. I open it and I’m horrified by what I see:  Dozens of filthy pictures of a brown-haired woman being sexed in weird and painful ways. Her body is positioned in various ways, some of which I’m very familiar with and on some of the same kinds of equipment I’ve recently experimented with. Many of the pictures are close ups of her privates and others partially show whoever took the photos having sex with her, though a face cannot be seen. I feel disgusted and violated looking at them.

Why would someone send these to me?
Maybe because of the subject matter that I paint? Perhaps they think this will be
inspiration
? I look into the envelope hoping to find an explanation and instead I find a small scribbled note.

I thought you would like these considering the filthy garbage that you paint. Does anything look familiar in them? You may want to reconsider who you’ve married. Did you know your husband met with his ex last night? You really are a stupid bitch if you think you can keep Dylan happy. Watch your back you whore because one of these days you’ll find a knife in it.